


Silk and Satin (Leather and Lace)

by HaveAGoodeDay



Category: American Horror Story
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Lots of flowers, More tags to be added, One Shot Collection, Shameless Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, of course its a foxxay fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2019-08-04 01:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16337111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaveAGoodeDay/pseuds/HaveAGoodeDay
Summary: A collection of thirty short stories revolving around Misty Day and Cordelia Goode, each based on a fancy word nobody ever uses on a daily basis.Alternatively titled, "I Needed an Excuse to Write 30 One-Shots"





	1. Druxy

**Author's Note:**

> I once wrote a series based on long words for another fandom and it was the most fun I'd ever had writing. So I am excited to start this and hope everyone enjoys this series.

 

> **_•Druxy -_ ** _Something which looks good on the outside, but is actually rotten inside._

  
  
Knock, _knock_ , _**knock**_.

Cordelia frowns. It's been exactly two weeks since Misty's returned to the moral realm, and the Supreme understood she needed time but-

Misty was just not _Misty_.

She didn't talk much, she flinched away from sharp objects and the metal serving trays at dinner. The swamp witch hadn't even stepped foot in the greenhouse, a problem Cordelia was focused on fixing this late Saturday morning.

"Misty?"

No response, instead of walking away and let it be, the witch twisted the doorknob until a _click_ signaled it's opening.

Curtains drawn, bed filled with pillows and covered in blankets.

Lost in the sea of fabric, a head of curly blonde hair pops out and smiles at her. But it's so _wrong wrong wrong_ , to see sadness hold down her joy and darkness blanket the light that Misty always so proudly wore like the shawls she finds so dear.

Cordelia lets herself into the room, Quietly walking over until she can gently sit on the edge of the bed and ask, "How are you feeling?"

Misty's too good, in her soul, to be a passable liar. Her eyes always go downcast and she bites her lip and scratches her nose- she's lied about her feelings so much recently Cordelia has learned all the tells.

They all happen now, when the girl murmurs, "Feelin' fine, Miss 'Delia."

It's a matter of give and take, the process. Cordelia looks over her friend, all soft features with a hint of sharp edges, a fire underneath her skin that is lost amongst the wet blanket four years of Hell left over her as a parting gift. Her fingers reach over and rest on Misty's knee above the blanket.

"I was wondering if you'd be able to help me today," Misty sits up slightly, curious to know why, "There's a few plants in the garden I can't seem to get to bloom."

The mention of garden and plants would usually have Misty up and going but that was before. Now, the words send her shrinking back and pushing it off, "I ain't feeling much like like gardenin' right now."

Her chest hurts and aches cause more than anything, Misty Day longs to be surrounded by nature. She'd been reborn surrounded by it once, and that was her favorite revival second only to waking up held by Cordelia, seeing her after so many years...

But Misty feels like _rot_ and all things _bad_. Fear grips at her wants and desires, holds them back because no good can come from _her_ , a witch infected with the stench of death invading a green sanctuary.

She says to herself the same, when she moves her knee and lets Cordelia's hand fall to the mattress, that no matter how much she wants to just grab Cordelia and tell her all this, the darkness might infest her soul too and Misty could never, _ever ruin Miss 'Delia._

"I thought you'd say that." Cordelia tries not to let the hurt show on her features, tries not to reach out and just feel Misty again. To know she's real and to let her know she's here. The Supreme stands, steps back a little and forces a smile, "So I brought you something."

The trip to the door and back can't be more than a few seconds, including her leaning down to pick the little potted zinnia flowers left out in the hall. The long-stemmed flora bounces as she steps back to the bed, holding the un-bloomed buds as she sits back down.

"Zinnias." Cordelia states, "I've been growing them since you left." Her fingertips softly brushes against one of the broad leaves, "Do you know what they mean?"

Misty shakes her head no, scoots away from the plant. It's singing with life, all green and growth and-

"They represent the thoughts of absent friends." Cordelia looks at her from the corner of her eye and she laughs, a quick and quiet sound as she explains herself, "They made me think of you, Misty."

"Oh."

"There's a whole bed full of them, down in the greenhouse." She puts the plant down on the bed in between them and reaches out, offering her hand to Misty, "But these, I started growing when you came back."

Misty looks between Cordelia's eyes, her offered palm, and the bursting with light flower buds. The fear is clear across her face, with each shift of emotion along the spectrum of _I trust you_ and _I'm scared_.

"I wanted you to have these." Cordelia says, staying still as Misty takes her hand as if working with a startled, wild animal. "So, if I'm ever called to a council meeting and I'm not here," the Supreme looks at the plant, "You can remember me everyday, like I remembered you."

"Everyday?" Misty asks, a little awed.

"Every single day," Cordelia takes the girl's hand and without her noticing, brings it to hover over the potted flower, "I would weed them, and water them, and talk to you."

"What did you say?" Misty questions, her eyes flicker down to Cordelia's mouth, a second only, but noticed.

"I would tell you about the coven, the girls, all the things I wanted to tell you before, too."

Cordelia leans over, meeting Misty in the middle, their foreheads touch, and the heat from the contact spreads, in such a lovely way, filling Misty with something she'd been missing for so, so long.

"What was that, hm?" Misty hums, a smile tugging at her lips and she closes her eyes.

"That I was falling in love with..." Cordelia pauses, pushes past her nerves, "With all your quirks and touches and _you_."

She barely gets the confession out because Misty is there, kissing her like there was never a long in between to their relationship, there was no black and no dark that swallowed up both of them. She tastes like lavender and chamomile and earth, everything Cordelia imagined and _more._

They part, Misty takes a deep breath in from her nose and tilts her head because instead of Cordelia's perfume, the sweet scent of zinnias fills her lungs.

In between the two, the flowers are bloomed in color splashes of red, yellow and purple, nearly spilling out of their little pot. Misty laughs, really laughs for the first time since and glances back up at Cordelia who grins at her pure joy.

"Did you do that?" Misty asks, believing.

"Nope." Cordelia pops the P, raising her hand away and letting Misty push her fingertips into the soil, causing the already blooming plant to sprout at least five more flowers.

Sitting there, dirt coming out and sprinkling her sheets, Cordelia watching her, Misty Day feels all that death and rot and darkness fall off in pieces, like the leaves off a tree when the colder months come round.

Yes, Misty Day is everything light and life, she just needed to be reminded of it.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Capernoited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all got me blushing with all the kind reviews! Thanks to everyone reading and I hope you enjoy the second as much as the first.

 

> **_•Capernoited –_ ** _Slightly intoxicated or tipsy_

 

Perhaps, the hardest part of dating Misty Day, was picking a place for their first date. _Well_ , more like their first real date going somewhere other than the greenhouse or swamp.

Cordelia had settled on a lovely little eatery downtown, _Cafe_ _Degas_ , for a brunch date on the one day the Supreme seemed to have a day off, Sunday. As the two walked in, it was obviously the correct choice. While the swamp witch would be a little out of place in a fancy restaurant, her style of belted dresses and crystal necklaces fits in nicely with the hanging plants and colored lanterns decorating the cafe's interior.

The two are seated and Misty immediately reaches up and brushes her hand against the nearest ivy growing above them, her humming of _Stevie Nicks_ quiet enough Cordelia is the only one able to hear the faint melody of _gold dust woman_.

"Do you like it?" Cordelia asks, a little nervous. In all her past relationships with men she'd never had to pick the location of any outing, and she feels silly for how _desperate_ she is to make this amazing.

"I love it, Miss 'Delia." Misty smirks, a playful glint in her eyes as Cordelia frowns at the formality.

"You don't have to call me 'Miss' all the time, Misty."

"What if I like it?" The girl retorts, unwrapping the silverware on her side of the table and admiring the fancy engraved designs. Her hair is a mess, and Cordelia is pretty sure she didn't comb it today, she's also pretty sure she likes it.

To be with such a care-free spirit, like this ball of light across from her, it makes it so much more _fun_.

Cordelia's reply is silenced by their waitress, who steps over with a notepad and pen and asks politely, "Are you ladies ready to order?"

Misty is the first to nod and start listing off foods, for such a thin figure the swamp witch has the appetite of men twice her size. Cordelia is so invested in watching her lips form each word- _waffles, bacon, pancakes-with-extra-syrup_... She blushes when they both look to her unexpectedly, "Huh?"

"I asked, what would you like?" The waitress repeats, a little stunned still at Misty's order but relieved when Cordelia orders a simple eggs, toast, and sausage.

Then she says it,

"Just so you both know, we're serving bottomless mimosas today, it's our speciality."

..

Misty, it turns out, _really_ likes mimosas. She's letting their server refill her glass ( _her very tall, very empty glass_ ) for a fourth time when Cordelia decides it's proper to ask,

"Misty," Cordelia doesn't want to sound like that, but her girlfriend is already flushed and giggling into her plate and it's only eleven in the morning, "How many of those have you had?"

She knows, of course, but it sounds better than _slow down_. Misty's in the middle of a large bit of pancake, the fluffy crumbs clinging to her bottom lip as she tilts her head and answers,

"Three, I think."

Yeah, Cordelia is sure, when Misty's words are slightly slurred and she laughs at the worried gaze of her girlfriend.

"Maybe you should stop..." Cordelia says, watching the woman drink even more.

"Why?" Misty stares at the orange to reed ombere of her drink, "Ain't this the best orange juice you ever had, Miss 'Delia?"

It clicks in the older of the two's brain,

"Misty, do you know that has _alcohol_ in it?"

Misty stops, looks between her date and the drink, before shaking her head slowly, exaggerated.

"Oh my god." It's Cordelia's turn to laugh, the look of shock painted across the witch's face absolutely hilarious, "Champagne, Mist, it's orange juice and champagne."

"That's why I feel all funny?" Misty questions, then blurts out, "I thought I was just gettin' all hot and bothered by you."

Cordelia looks around at the surrounding tables, aware that they are in a public place.

"What with how you look in that blouse, Miss 'Delia, I just wanna rip all the buttons off and-"

"Misty!" Cordelia stops her, trying not to look back at the poor older woman seated next to them, "As much as I appreciate your, um, _interest_ , this is a restaurant."

"The only time I had anything like this was when my daddy brewed up his own moonshine," Misty sticks her tongue out at the memory, adorable as her nose scrunches up, " _Yuck_. Even the potions you mix up with all them gross tastin' ingredients are better than that."

"You never got drunk before, Misty?" Cordelia asks, amazed, the girl is twenty three, if you don't count her years in Hell.

"Nu-uh. Can I ask you somethin', Delia?"

"What?"

"You reckon I can fit under this table?"

"...We're going home."  


 

 


	3. Wanweird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter one, but ay, it's a Monday so...

 

> **_•Wanweird -_ ** _An unhappy fate._

 

Teaching magic in turn has taught Cordelia ~~_Foxx_~~ Goode many, many things. Never let the girls try potion mixing in their first year, don't leave your students alone in the greenhouse, if a girl asks for a love spell, _don't_ give them the recipe and-

Possibly the hardest to accept-

Fate is _fate_ , and magic cannot fix or alter that. Not even the Supreme can change the natural order of the Earth, moon, and sun. You cannot put off death forever,the cold kiss of the afterlife will catch up far sooner than you realize. So, when Cordelia studied spell after spell, incantation after incantation; There was clearly nothing to be done to bring a certain swamp witch back.

Fate had written Misty Day out of her book, crossed out the name like a mistake on the pages of the world and Cordelia hated it. Misty, sweet, innocent Misty had fought against her demise so many times.

 _Fire_ , and _suffocation_ and all she wanted was to help things, bring them _back_ against their own brink.

Maybe, Cordelia thinks, it's why death came for her over and over. The bright-eyed blonde had kept so many souls (birds, gators, plants and _people_ ) out of the hands of darkness it had to consume Misty and restore the natural balance.

Sometimes, she'll wake in the middle of the night, look up at the ceiling of her bedroom and whisper into the darkness to take her instead. Cordelia was the Supreme and she hadn't saved as many people that the Cajun did in her short time in the living realm, the Coven would blossom under the leadership of such a kind person-

 _No_ , Misty didn't want to lead anyone. Cordelia's guilt creeps in then, like black ink on the edges of the paper of her thoughts, that she _forced_ the girl to do the Seven Wonders.

A voice, it sounds like her mother, applauds her slowly and says way to go, the first witch to change the path of fate, for if she didn't make Misty do the test, she wouldn't of gone to hell...

It hurts too, not knowing what she's going through.

Fate is fate, she tells herself, that things cannot be changes especially after happening. So when she sees Queenie, and Madison, with that boy -

Michael is not a witch, a warlock, the damn boy isn't even a demon, he's something _more_ than all of them.

Cordelia wonders, when she wakes up after fainting, if this blonde young man is the pen that destiny uses to write the world. So she plans, and she acts.

Bring back Misty.

It's a simple request, from someone that asks for so little and received _nothing_. Cordelia asked for a faithful partner, a baby, a loving mother; she deserves _this_.

He smirks at her, reads pass her eyes and looks into the ache of her heart,

_"I'll get your friend back."_

For a moment, her world is crush and she starts crying, really crying in front of these men and her sisters, when he comes back without the swamp witch. The tears, switch quickly to overjoyed, when the dust gathers out of thin air and -

She's back.

Misty Day is here and she's in her arms, something Cordelia was convinced would never, ever happen.

"You're back, you're safe." She tells her, making sure to anchor the girl to the ground in fear she'll just vanish again.

Fate might not be changed, but looking up at Michael, Cordelia worries. The visions, she cannot change those, can she?

Because this boy, this _thing_ ,

 _He wrote them._  
  
  



	4. Anagapesis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ! Incoming smut alert ! Hide your eyes little children!

> _**•Anagapesis -**_ _The feeling when one no longer loves someone they once did._

 

Sometimes, Cordelia Goode will lay in bed, and wonder if she ever really _loved_   Hank.

Her hands will count the number of times her brought her home flowers and run out of fingers, and her lips will repeat all the sweet-nothings he whispered in her ear. The skin that her wedding band sat on will burn and itch and she'll ease it by reaching over and intertwining her digits with Misty's even if the other woman is sleeping.

She'll remember the joy at being called his wife for the first time, _Foxx_ , it rang so nicely with her own first name. The ghost of his hands will wander across her body and Cordelia will ask herself, _did she love him?_

Yes. She knows the answer is yes. She wanted a baby with him, her wedding day was the happiest day of her life, God, even her mother being there didn't ruin it.

Then Misty snores, loudly, in her ear, and she stops thinking for a second. Let's a smile drift across her face in the dark.

She loved Hank, but she loves Misty.

Loves the little way she'll find flowers planted around their greenhouse, loves waking up to Misty playing with her hair and singing Stevie Nicks in the early morning. She even adores how her girlfriend always seems to be barefoot and partially covered in dirty half the time.

Cordelia loved Hank, possibly because he was kind and handsome and everything she'd been looking for. Maybe it had been wanting to get away from her mother, or wanting to feel some kind of love for once.

Cordelia loves Misty, in that _bursting_ at the seams way, for everything the swamp witch is. Dirty, messy, free spirited with a backwood's charm that makes her melt at every accented word and phrase.

"Thinkin' too hard." Misty's rough, sleeply voice startles her. Cordelia looks over and she's met with two tired brown eyes, blinking at her. "Woke me up."

Cordelia laughs, pushing her shoulder and turns on her side to face the swamp witch, "Are sure I woke you up, not the way your stomach's been rumbling for the past fifteen minutes?"

The room is dark but Misty's blush isn't lost.

"Coulda been a mix of 'em both, Miss 'Delia." She props herself up on her elbows, creates a curtain of curly blonde hair as she hovers over Cordelia.

She bites her lip, glances down at Cordelia's own and adds, "Coulda been somethin' else too."

"Hm," Cordelia hums contently, looping her arms up and around Misty's neck, "What could that be?"

"The fact I got a beautiful woman in my bed," She places a soft kiss against Cordelia's cheek, "And I ain't touchin' her."

Their mouths meet then, and Misty tastes like chocolate chip cookies and drool, an oddly endearing flavor that makes Cordelia's heart feel too warm in her chest. She knows Misty's a bit worked up, what with how she sits back to pull her shirt over her head and _wow_ , no bra.

Ok, so she's a little worked up too.

Cordelia's hands come up to lay over both of the girl's breasts, squeezing gently and enjoying the way Misty's mouth falls open.

One thing to be said of Misty lack of experience in this particular department, she's way hotter than Cordelia could even of imagined. Misty shows no embarassment, simply asks the Supreme,

"Can you touch me now, 'Delia?"

It never gets old, sending a spark of want directly to her center and she plays with the hem of Misty's panties in a light, teasing manner.

" _Please_."

Whatever dream Misty was having before waking, it must of been _good_ , if the wetness Cordelia finds is any tell. Her fingers slide against the girl's clit, earning little grunts and even a yelp when she moves faster, feeling the press of Misty down onto her hand.

She loves watching Misty, seeing her unravel and fall apart with every swirl of her finger and press of her thumb. The rush of catching her, holding her against her own chest and promising her that she's _okay,_ Cordelia's got her, she can-

"Let _go_ , Misty."

Misty's noises fit her so well, a harmony of pants and grunts and little moans bitten back as she rides out her orgasm on Cordelia's fingertips. She throws her head back and let's the older of the two admire the column of her through, place sloppy kisses against her neck and listen to her pluse racing as she settles into Cordelia's lap.

Cordelia did love Hank, before, but Misty's pushed him out of every corner and crack of her heart. Replaced every piece with her own _little_ things that seem so much _**bigger**_. 


	5. Grapholagnia

 

> **_•Grapholagnia –_ ** _The urge to stare at obscene pictures._

 

Cordelia was **livid**.

Her powers themselves, as strong as they are, make the skies open up in a downpour as she stalks down the academy's main staircase. Thunder claps nearby, and Cordelia's eyes hold a storm all their own.

 _Madison_ , her thought process repeats, _I'm going to kill that girl_.

The few younger students that felt brave enough to look out of their hiding spots quickly backed off, the older witch's energy enough to send even Queenie running for the hills.

Lighting strikes quite well timed with Cordelia's discovery of Madison, who reclines on the sofa in the coven's shared living space. Her black heels propped up on the coffee table. With a raised hand, and a flick of the wrist the movie star's feet find themselves stuck to the floor against her own will.

Her phone is thrown to the side and Madison finally notices  her leader looming over her, "What the _fuck_?"

Cordelia seems not at all amused at Madison's glare, her own eyes feel hot with the rage boiling up in her bloodstream, "What did you do?"

Madison, suddenly sitting back and smirking in her usual fashion, plays the fool and replies, "I didn't do anything, Cordy."

"Cut the _shit_ , Madison." The Supreme's yelling has to be heard throughout the house, "Why did you tell Misty about that-that __filth__ _?!_ "

The younger witch realizes that this isn't just a light cat-fight, and she puts up her defenses and spits back, "Oh boo _hoo_ , I showed Swampy some porn. What's wrong with that? Huh? Scared your swamp rat will get off to someone other than you?"

Cordelia wants nothing more than to slap the self-self-proclaimed star but fights the itch in her palm. However dark it is outside, their shared spikes of power light the room with it's own fiery glow not visible to the eye, but felt with every breath. "Misty isn't like you, stop trying to make her-"

"Stop trying to tell me showing that gator girl some dirty photos is a _bad_ thing," Madison cuts her off, taking her phone back in her hand and ignoring the fact her feet are still magically glued to the floor, "She had questions I answered them."

"You had no right-"

"She's your best friend." Madison reminds, her eyes dark and final when she finishes, "Why didn't _you_ tell her?"

\--

Cordelia knew very little about Misty's past. She knows the young woman grew up in a bible-centered community in the backwoods of Louisiana, home schooled by her God-fearing mother and disciplined by a religious father and his leather belt. The girl had to have little to no education on anything related to... that.

God, she can't even think the word. How is she supposed to talk about it with-

"Miss 'Delia?"

Too lost in her thoughts, Cordelia had unconsciously returned to her bedroom, which now is Misty's too. The wild blonde is still sitting on the bed where Cordelia had found her before going on a rage-fuelled quest to kill Madison. The laptop is luckily asleep, unlike before.

The memory of walking in on Misty looking those **graphic** photos is burned into the backs of her eyelids, the older witch sees it with each blink. They certainly needed to have this talk.

"Did I do somethin' wrong?" Misty's voice is fairly quiet, she herself had heard the screaming downstairs and felt the anger through the floorboards.

"No." Cordelia breathes out, rubs her temples quickly to ease the impending headache away, "You did nothing wrong, it just shocked me, is all."

"Oh." Misty glances down at her lap and mumbles, "I'm real sorry-"

"Don't apologize," Cordelia takes the moment to sit down on the bedspread too, "It's perfectly natural to be curious about... The human body."

The blush that paints the Supreme's face is redder than the dress Misty's wearing.

"Okay." Misty herself seems to shift in place. The movement makes her dress slip up on her thighs, exposing an expanse of pale skin. Cordelia _really_ tries not to look.

"Um," She bites her lip, unsure of how to start this conversation, "Do you have any, uh, questions?"

They're friends for Christ's sake, Misty is most likely the best friend she's ever had. Since her return from Hell, the swamp witch has shared a bed with Cordelia to ease nightmares away. This conversation is worse than the Talk she had with Fiona as a teenager.

Well, she never wanted to look at her mother's thighs. So this is a bit better.

It takes a long pause, but Misty sits forward and looks every bit curious, almost whispering as she narrows her eyes, "I was wondering why ladies have nothin'..."

The Cajun motions slowly to her crotch, ""Down there."

It takes the Supreme a second to catch on, but she understands and slowly nods although her interal panic heightens. Oh God. Why couldn't it have been _How are babies made, Miss Cordelia?_

"Some women," Cordelia starts then adds, " _and_ men, like to shave their... areas. It's all personal preference."

Relief washes over Misty's features, and Cordelia thinks this is going well. She can do this-

"Thank you, I was worring I wasn't normal."

No she _can't_.

The storm has settled and the window no longer pitter-pats with rainfall, and Misty doesn't seem nearly as uncomfortable as Cordelia is. There's also an embarrassing warm spreading through her lower half, which has her asking her own question.

"Misty," Her hands feel clammy and she wipes them on her black slacks, "The photos you had up- earlier, are you- Are you aroused by that?"

She doesn't know if trying to make it more technical is helping.

"What?" The wild blonde tilts her head to the side, "The couple in the leather- with the whip?"

Cordelia squeezes her eyes shut. She hears Misty move, and finds the other woman closer than before upon opening them again.

"I don't know whatcha mean by aroused, though, Miss 'Delia."

The thing is, Misty is so innocent. She's died three times by now, she's gone to Hell and stayed there for a long time (too long), but the darkness consistently trying to wrap her in its arms and consume  that aspect of her has failed every time.

Cordelia accepts this conversation is actually happening, she's teaching her... ( _crush_ , comes to mind, but Cordelia tells herself crushes are for school girls and she's far past that part of her life) ... friend about simple biology her parents neglected to tell her about.

"Do you find yourself getting feelings, down there? When you see stuff like that?"

"No."

"Then why do you look at them?"

"It's like the swamp." Misty explains, her lips moving to fast as she starts rushing her words, "I always was watchin' the critters and they would make their babies and I understood that, Miss 'Delia, but I just don't-understand-it-real-good with-people."

Oh.

"You look at those photos because you're curious?" Cordelia tries, a little confused herself.

"I know that men do that," Misty finally blushes, and really blushes at that. The red tones of her face are nearly matching her dress, "And that's how they make babies and it feels real good but-"

Misty sighs as if frustrated.

"Can two ladies do that?"

"Make a baby?"

"No, feel good."

"Oh, uh..." Cordelia cannot look at her right now, doesn't even entertain the thought of seeing what emotions run across her friend's face. "While women don't have the same equipment, they can still give themselves pleasure by other means."

"Miss 'Delia?"

"Yes?"

"I don't wanna do it to myself."

This morning, Cordelia woke up and had her coffee. She taught her botany class, and she look through the new student applications. Today  was a normal day, _until_ now.

"Can I do it to you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Misty not having a clue about sex is my favorite Foxxay thing and you can pry it out of my cold dead hands.


	6. Mamihlapinatapei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter got a LOT of requests for a continuation, which it will get! Just not now ;)

 

> _•_ **_Mamihlapinatapei_ ** _\- The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move._

 

The thought that they don't have time, is what scares Cordelia to the bone. Sends her body into a cold, cold place as she watches Misty water their plants and mouth every word to whatever Stevie song is playing faintly on her radio.

"What do you call this one, Miss Cordelia?"

"Mugwort." The supreme answers, "It's used to open the mind in preparation for divination. I'll be teaching the girls all about it this week, if you'd like to join in on the lesson."

Misty bites her lip, runs her finger along the leaves and continues onto the next potted flora, the green bush showing little bundles of dark violet dots.

Knowingly, Cordelia starts before the swamp witch can ask, "Elderberry, hidden wisdom. Although very powerful in banishing spells, too."

The older witch is certain this is why she enjoys Misty's company so much, so many questions. Her younger companion is fascinated by the greenery surrounding them as much as Cordelia herself is.

 _(She tells herself it's not because when Misty walks by, the fragrance of her perfume rivals even the prettiest flower, tells herself that she_ _doesn_ _'t stare when the other is busy digging up soil.)_

"That's real cool, Miss 'Delia." Misty's slow nod is accompanied by a little smile, looking at  the berries with awe. Carefully she looks up, meets Cordelia's eyes and asks, "Can you tell me somethin'?"

"Anything." The supreme assures.

"Which of your plants is used for..." Misty's blush is comparable to the crimson color of poppies in their full bloom, spreading down the column of her neck and disappearing underneath layers of lace and bulky necklaces. "For uh, love n' stuff?"

Cordelia clears her throat, suddenly feeling too stuffy in the heated space and fidgeting with her garden shears. The thought of ~~_her_~~ Misty having a need for anything like that-

"Do you have your eye on someone, Misty?" She tries to ask casually, cringing as her voice cracks at the end of the simple question.

"I reckon I do." Misty whispers back.

Cordelia doesn't expect to look up directly into her friend's eyes, the gray-blue orbs looking back at her intently from a much shorter distance than earlier.

"I'd suggest lavender." Cordelia finally says, breaking the contact and continuing, "For attraction. Raspberry leaf for love. I must have a few love charms laying around here somewhere, I'm sure there is one with marshmallow root that is a good beginner's-"

"How 'bout something to make it easier to just..." Misty itches the side of her nose, nervously shifting her eyes back and forth over the ground, then the table of plants, "To just tell 'em how you feel?"

"Nettle for courage." Cordelia tells her, a little smile forming on her lips as she honestly tells the girl, "Though you shouldn't be scared, Misty, any boy would be lucky to have you."

Misty lets out a huff of breath, pouting slightly as she admits, "Ain't no _boy_ I'm after, Miss 'Delia."

The supreme's heart does not skip a beat, she tells herself.

" _Ah_." Cordelia attempts to keep up a calm facade, glancing at Misty out of the corner of her eye. "Do you know if she is interested back?"

"I don't know," Misty picks at the fringe of her dress, "She seems awful affectionate, but I think she just been thinkin' about it too much."

"I could see why, you are quite beautiful." It come out in a rush before the older blonde can stop herself, causing her own embarrassment to bubble dangerously close to the surface. "I mean, it is understandable someone would be nervous around y-you."

"So you think she's just lackin' confidence too?" Misty inquires, a her lips turning up into an excited grin as she practically bounces in her seat.

"Most likely, yes."

"Whatcha suggest for that, Miss 'Delia?"

"Buttercups." Cordelia offers, feeling a dread root its way under her skin as she realizes what exactly she's helping Misty do. That Misty isn't interested in-

No. Don't think about it.

"Maybe ambrosia, if you feel she has feelings for you, it says you feel the same as she does."

"Thank ya, Miss 'Delia." Misty practically jumps out of her seat, shawl twirling around her as she spins on her way running out the door, "I'll see you later!"

The door to the greenhouse never shut louder than that moment.

That night, Cordelia nearly trips over a mason jar filled with water and a bouquet left at her bedroom door.  The flowers are tied with string, a beautiful collection of-

The yellow flora, long green stems carefully cut and placed together with the larger, vibrant fade from pink to a light tan of it's paired flower.

Buttercups and ambrosia. A mason jar with no note left. But Cordelia can still see mud left clinging to the rim of the glass.

For _Confidence_.

Joy filling her chest with a warm glow, Cordelia gently puts the flowers on the nearest clear tabletop, and makes her way down the hall.

Hopefully, Misty's still awake.


	7. Gymnophoria

  * **_Gymnophoria_** _– The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you._



The classical music playing through the ball room is much different than her usual Stevie records, and the dress she wears is void of tassels or belts. The fabric is red, dark and crimson against her exposed tan arms. The sweetheart neckline lower than what Misty usual wears at the academy.

 

“Are you having fun?” Cordelia asks at her side, her own form adorning a black dress with long sleeves and a flowing skirt that resembles her own. There’s sympathy in the question, “You didn’t have to come, I’m sure I would of been fine alone.”

 

“What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t escort the most beautiful lady in the world to a fancy dance?” Misty smiles, though the makeup Madison and Zoe convinced her to wear feels like paint on her cheeks and forehead. This _gala_ , she thinks Cordelia called it,  is the meeting of the most influential in the magic community. Cordelia’s attendance was required - and her’s by association. Even if the Supreme would of forced her to stay home if she knew of her discomfort.

 

The swamp witch guesses Cordelia feels her awkward shifting, the way her eyes bounce around all the well-dressed guests. “We can leave early?” She offers, letting her hand settle on Misty’s arm.

 

“No, I’m okay.”

 

“Why don’t I get us something to drink?” Cordelia’s eyes light up with her idea, and she steps a little away from Misty. The light of the ball room reflects off her hair and the excited expression across her face eases some of Misty’s nerves. “You wait right here, don’t move.”

 

Watching her walk away, she barely even _notices_ the pin-prickling feeling running down her back until the older witch is out of view. Her hands smooth down her skirt and she leans against the wall behind her; But she crosses them defensively as the lingering _off-ness_ of something roots its way into her mind.

 

Her eyes glance around, blue-gray irises looking to catch a glimpse of Cordelia in the crowd. The majority of people stand in groups, clinking champagne glasses and laughing at unfunny jokes -

 

Then Misty notices _him_ , staring right back at her when she finally sees the middle-aged man about fifteen feet in front of her. From the intensity of it, Misty has no doubt he has been looking at her for much longer than she had been at him.

 

She breaks eye contact, tries to ignore the image of him  walking closer to her from the corner of her eye.

 

His beard is bushy and his mustache takes up the entire space of his upper lip; it’s the first thing the Cajun notices when he greets her to get her attention off the floor.

 

“Hello, beautiful.”

 

Misty wishes her hair was down, not piled atop her head and keep there with too many pins and hairspray. Her fingers itch to twirl the curls, she settles on fidgeting with her dress fabric. Though she is the least bit interested in talking to him, her mama always taught her to be kind, so she offers back,

 

“Hi.”

 

( _When will Cordelia come back?_ )

 

He is too close, like whoever raised him from a boy to a man didn’t teach him the concept of personal space. His breath smells like Cordelia’s after a few glasses of her favorite wine, but the familiar fragrance does little to calm her coming from his mouth and not her lover’s.

 

“I haven’t seen you at one of these before,” His voice is gruff but it slurs at the ends of its words, “You’re here  alone?”

 

Misty looks around, trying to avoid looking directly at him, “I’m waiting for my girlfriend to come back.”

 

“That’s nice, I personally have been to too many of these.” He says, but Misty has a hunch he didn’t hear a word she said. The music switches over to a slower track, something with more piano than before. “Almost didn’t come today, but I’m glad I did now, dollface.”

 

He tips his almost empty glass toward her, and the sloshing liquid inside moves faster than his delayed motions. The swamp witch scrunches her nose up at the nickname - _dollface -_ and politely tries to excuse herself.

 

“I should go find my date.” She tries, attempting to inform him she is happily taken. Her feet go to walk toward the bar, toward Cordelia but his large free hand catches her by the elbow.

 

“Honey, I’m sure I’m better than the guy you’re with now. Why don’t you want to dance with me?”

 

“Let _go_ of me.” Misty’s voice drawls out the words, a warning weaved into the command. His fingers pinch her skin, a few surrounding party attendees glance their way. His hand does not retreat from her arm, and she tells him again, “Let go.”

 

Them man’s face goes a little redder, and his eyebrows draw together in angry confusion as to why she’s denying his advances. Misty shakes off his touch and he reaches to reclaim his grabbing but his palm freezes in between them; like it’s held tightly in place.

 

Misty jumps when Cordelia’s hand settles on her hip, and she looks over her shoulder as her girlfriend steps up to her side. The older blonde’s other hand holds two champagne glasses effortlessly.

 

Her lips - a light coral color, are in a tight smile and she asks the man who stares at his own hand, “Can I help you?”

 

He glares at Cordelia, at the arm wrapping itself around Misty’s waist, and he spits, “Fucking _bitch_.”

 

Cordelia goes unfazed by the swearing, she simply bites back anything she’d want to throw back at him and tells him, “I’d be careful, grabbing girls without their consent. That’s a good way to lose a hand, you know.”

 

She releases him from her magical grip and turns to look over Misty, eyes worriedly settling on the place he grabbed as the offender walks off toward the exit doors. Her palm slides against Misty’s cheek and she cups the younger woman’s chin, “We’re going home.”

 

It isn’t a question, and Misty wonders if Cordelia dislikes these events even more than she does.

 

“Take me home, 'Delia.”

  
  
  



	8. Boondoggle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to AngelicRabe as always for proofreading. And everyone for reading!

> **_Boondoggle –_ ** _  Work that you do just so that you look busy, but it isn't actually useful. _
> 
>  

“Misty?” 

 

“Yeah?” The glasses on Misty’s nose nearly wobble with the force of her head jerking up to look at Cordelia. She doesn’t need them - but they match Cordelia’s and slightly magnify her eyes in the most adorable way as she perks up on the chair across the desk from her girlfriend. “Did you need something?”

 

_ She’s sweet,  _ her expression is one of eagerness to help - but the Coven’s tax forms are scattered across the surface of her workspace, and Cordelia’s pen rests on a pad of paper with its end bitten relentlessly. The attorney will be here next Monday and the pile of receipts and forms stacked to her left is steadily getting smaller. Misty had set up across from her on the second day - determined to spend time with Cordelia even if the numbers and long, legal paperwork made her feel a bit out of place. “No, but thank you for asking.” Misty’s pen taps on her notebook, the colorful green end of it giving away the hue of it’s ink. “I just wanted to tell you that if you get bored you shouldn’t just sit in here for me.”

 

“How could I be bored around you, darlin’?” Misty’s question makes the Supreme blush, her head bows to hide the pink tint to the tip of her nose. Misty’s tongue clicks against the back of her teeth, her dimples indenting as her cheeky smile grows. “I’m busy myself. Important work to be done,  _ cher.”  _

 

With that Misty’s pen scribbles audibly against her paper pad - her nose crinkles with concentration as it hovers only a few inches from the page. Cordelia’s eyebrows draw together and her curiosity peaks.  _ What’s she doing?  _ The numerical values in front of blend together fuzzily as her mind focuses on Misty instead of them. The younger woman’s cheeks puff out as she scrawls with her pen.  _ Is she writing something?  _

 

A minute passes, then another. Cordelia’s eyes can’t seem to stay on her own work; her fingertips flip back and forth between the same two papers without taking in their information. Misty’s subtle noises aren’t  _ annoying  _ as much as they are distracting. The low hum of her throat that sounds like something between  _ Dreams  _ and  _ Tusk  _ as she bounces back and forth from song to song. Distracting, because it makes Cordelia much rather pay attention to her than the important task at hand.

 

Finally, the prying need to know what has Misty’s undivided diligence wins out. Cordelia sighs, loudly, and inquires with a squinting look. “What are you working on?” 

Misty pauses in her actions, her head nods thoughtfully as her eyes scan over the paper. She looks very endearing; the glasses and radiant smile.  _ You’re stupid with love,  _ Cordelia’s chin rests on the heel of her hand, her elbow supported on the desktop. She know she must look like a lovesick puppy, gazing foolishly at Misty as her lips part in a little excited breath and she speaks with a measured and enthusiastic tone, “Just a little somethin’ for my beautiful  _ bele.”  _ Misty’s pointer finger gestures toward Cordelia as a helpful hint. They’ve been dating for a few months, but a few of the Cajun’s terms still go over her head - though they do sound quite pretty rolling of her tongue easily nestled amongst the more understandable ones. “Like I said, very important.”

 

“For me?” Cordelia’s eyes widen, her lips quirk up in a pleasant smirk. A few ideas run through Cordelia’s head, but she settles on putting on her best puppy dog face. Complete with a pouting lip and a grabby hand outstretched toward Misty, Cordelia implores, “Can I see?” 

 

Misty hugs the pad to her chest, clutches it against the fabric of her shawl wrapped around her in a loose embrace. She shakes her head, “Nu-uh, ‘Delia. You just do your work, and I’ll keep on finishing this up.” 

 

The idea of going back to her papers after knowing Misty’s project is for  _ her  _ is worse than before. Misty shifts in her chair, her bare feet come up to perch on the edge on it, the paper pad rests against her propped up knees. From this angle, Cordelia can just see from the tip of her nose up. Her long, blonde lashes underneath the glasses blue eyes following whatever she does on the page with the spared glance up at the older witch across from her. 

 

With a resigned huff, Cordelia pulls the calculator to rest directly in front of her, and gets lost in the numbers and figures that seem more annoying than before. 

  
  
  


The mug of tea in her hand  _ almost  _ burns her palm, her feet shuffle down the hall with a tired path back to her office to shut down her computer and neatly place all her supplies back in their places. The door isn’t opened, but with a flick of her free hand, the wooden barrier swings open gently without banging against the wall behind it. 

 

Cordelia rolls her eyes with an amused smile as she puts her nightly drink down. Misty’s pens are scattered across the side of the desk she’d been working closer to. A few lay on the floor. She bends down to grab them off the hardwood, and is surprised when she comes back to stand. On her side, where the papers already have been properly stacked, a single page lays with its colorful side up. Her fingers crinkle the paper as she picks it up to better see what is on it. The ink stains darker where more pressure was obviously applied. A simple sketch outlines two figures crudely, the guiding lines of the two faces in the drawing are still there - unable to be removed in their permanent nature. The one with big, roughed out hair holds a cartoonish flower out to the other. She recognizes her own outfit, the style of the straight hair colored boldly in yellow. Underneath them Misty’s scrawl-ish handwriting reads boldly, 

 

_ You’re working too hard. Picnic this weekend?  _

 

The two opinions are spaced lower, the first reads  _ yes, _ the second is drawn in thicker, bolder lines and repeats  **_yes!_ ** The heart and smiley face doodled around the choices make Cordelia’s chest feel warm. Her fingertip runs across the letters, ink marks up the pad of it.  _ A thousand times yes,  _ she feels like writing at the bottom of the page. But she can hear Misty’s feet landing on creaking floorboards upstairs, can picture her walking back from the bathroom to snuggle into their shared bed with tired eyes - but stubborn enough to wait to sleep until Cordelia joins her. So she instead tucks the drawing into the top drawer of her desk, organizes her workspace, and goes to climb the stairs with one mission in mind. 

 

To show Misty just how  _ much  _ she loves the suggestion. 


	9. Apodyopis

  * **_Apodyopis_** _– The act of mentally undressing someone._



 

“Misty?” The damp, humid heat of the greenhouse hits Cordelia in the face as she steps into it from the rattling door frame. It creaks - squeaks loudly on its hinges. “Misty, are you out here?” The younger witch had stormed out of the parlor in a flurry of shawl tassels and the wispy light fabric of her skirt without an explanation as soon as morning gathering had started to wrap up. _Is she angry?_ Misty’s been back with them for eight months, she’s been _with_ Cordelia for about half of that. Cordelia can’t remember a moment of it accompanied with Misty’s anger. Her soul’s a little too light; any dark feelings can’t seem to pin her down.

 

The sweet floral scent of the blooming gardenias and the citrius of lemon balm leaves fills her nose as she passes them. The nursery is full of life, the greenery spilling out of its containers, crowding the aisles between the tables. Cordelia’s makes a point to step carefully, to tread only on the stone floor without digging her modest heels into unexpecting plantlife. Misty hadn’t been in their bedroom, in the kitchen, or in the bathroom. _She always comes here when something’s wrong._ What could possibly have the swamp witch hiding herself away with the soil and watering cans?

 

“Misty, please come out.” _You’re worrying me._ Cordelia decides not to add that, knowing the admission will only make Misty feel guilty. The record player on their workbench doesn’t spin, and the stillness of it is like a horrible omen. She walks over to it, her feet criss crossing with grace as she moves them. Her finger runs along the arm of the needle, and she debates reaching down to grab a record from the cardboard box stored underneath the wooden surface.

 

 _Maybe it’ll lure her out._ Misty’s incredible at hiding; a skill learned from living in the shadows, from letting herself fade into the spawn so well only the alligators and the crows knew of her simple existence. The worn sleeves of several _Fleetwood Mac_ vinyls are soft and slightly torn under her fingertips as she flicks through them. Her eyes squint at the shadowed artwork of _Rumors_ weighing her options. Cordelia’s too busy reading the song list to notice the soft padding of bare feet up behind her - and she shoots up too quickly when two hands grab her hips, head banging on the edge of the table.

 

“ _Ow!”_ Tears burn at her eyes as she squeezes them shut. _Damn that hurt._ Her fingers are hesitant as they jump up to touch the soreness. The first prod of the area makes her whimper, but her palm soothes the pain as it cups the most likely to swell injury.

 

“Shit-Let me help-I didn’t mean to get you hurt, darlin’.” Misty’s ringed fingers help her move out from under the table, unnecessarily helping her stand straight up. A heavy grimace of guilt pulls down the corner’s of Misty’s lips, making her dimples prominent in her cheeks. Her form moves side to side, checking both of Cordelia’s eyes with a certain intense gaze; “You banged your head awfully hard.”

 

Her hands have dirt on them - mud, sticky and cool. They cup Cordelia’s jaw leaving brownish gray marks. The wet feeling of the earthy mush makes Cordelia blush. _There is most definitely handprints on my ass, now._ The memory of the suggestive touch makes the older woman smile, makes the pulse of her heartbeat in her injury dull to the literal back of her mind. “You scared me.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Well,”  Cordelia bites her bottom lip quickly, lets her teeth grab the lip-gloss covered skin and release it as her brown eyes do a lingering pass over of her companion’s taller stature. The neckline of Misty’s top, and the necklace chains tangled together, their charms and crystals falling into the valley of her cleavage. “Are you going to make it up to me?”

 

Misty’s eyebrow raises up; surprise written along the lines of her expression. Her blue eyes find themselves washed of concern, replaced with a confident suggestiveness that sparks a familiar fire behind Cordelia’s navel. “Hm,” Her low hum rumbles in her throat, and her fingers remove themselves to instead trail over Cordelia’s collarbone. She’s making a horrible mess - but the visual of the mud creating loops on the other witch’s pale skin, encircling freckles, is worth the complaints later. “I was thinking you ought to make it up to me, ‘Delia.”

 

It’s Cordelia’s turn for an amused, question smile. She feels the edge of the workbench against her rear, her palms go to rest on the wooden surface, fingers curling under the lip. “I owe you?” Her head moves in a barely noticeable surprised shake, “For what?”

 

A deep inhale - one that’s close enough Misty can smell Cordelia’s perfume, the heavy fake floral scent filling her head like cotton muffling her thoughts. “This morning,” Her fingers stain the white of Cordelia’s blouse as she plays with its buttons, working them out from the little slits. “You got all dolled up in front of me.”

 

A crimson flush floods Cordelia’s face, darkening the tip of her nose, the rims of her ears even. _She watched me get dressed?_ They do share a room, _share a bed._ But the fact Misty actively took notice of her shrugging on her clothes oddly makes her feel a tug at her core. A bolt of fire that only is encouraged by Misty’s hands unbuttoning her shirt. They work until her white bra is clearly in view, and the dirty palms snake in between the loose cotton of the shirt and the pads covering her breasts.

 

A button pops off as Misty pulls the fabric just too much as her fingertips dance back around Cordelia’s ribcage, the clasp at the back of the garment easily unhooking. Without the taught straps, Misty can easily slide her hands under the bra to cup Cordelia’s warm skin underneath as she comes back to the front. Her head ducks; wild blonde hair nearly gets in Cordelia’s parted lips. Her lips feel warmer than her hands as she kisses her lover’s neck. Drags the attention up, until she can properly kiss Cordelia with purpose.

 

She feels Misty’s bare feet kicking her’s apart as gently as possible; feels her toe off Cordelia’s heels for her. “Are you trying to kill me, darlin’?” Misty’s hands retreat, going down to push Cordelia’s long skirt up, making space for herself to stand between her girlfriend’s legs as she hikes the shorter woman up to sit on the workbench. Her palms smooth over Cordelia’s thighs, feeling the thin material of her black nylons and her skin beneath the mesh. “Because these, _these_ are killin’ me, Dee.”

 

 _You’re killing me._ Cordelia’s breath comes out in a long pant, looking at Misty’s lustful gaze. It’s early in the day - _they haven’t eaten breakfast yet!_ The flicker of mischief that flashes in Misty’s eyes makes Cordelia wonder if she heard the thought. If she’s thinking that loudly.

 

“I think I know what I wanna start the day with,” Misty confirms Cordelia’s hypothesis, and the bulk of Misty’s curls lowers as she drops to her kneecaps on the stone floor. Kneeling with her hands holding Cordelia’s legs apart, the swamp witch looks positively excited. “-and it’s not _Cheerios.”_

 

There’s a moment of grief when she loses the sight of Misty; who ducks her head under Cordelia’s lengthy skirt. But the mourning is easily patched by seeing the form of a woman underneath the fabric of her skirt.  Cordelia reclines back onto her elbows, lips parting and eyes closing as her head tips back. Her skirt rustles as Misty’s arms move and arrange themselves under it. The skin of her inner thigh pinches, Misty’s blunt, dirty nail digging into the flesh as she picks at the panyhoses.

 

“Wait-” Cordelia’s hands move so fast, going to feel for Misty’s fingers through the material of her skirt, her shoulders hurt with the short fall to the workbench. “Wait--Misty, don’t rip-”

 

There’s a long, shredded noise of her nylons splitting apart; the reaction like dominos as the thin sheer garment is aided by Misty’s eager tugging. Misty’s hot, blowing breath flows over the newly exposed skin. Her lips drag over Cordelia’s thighs, and the wetness of her saliva makes Cordelia wonder if the other woman could possibly be _drooling._ There’s most definitely an obvious dampness to her panties - one hidden by the darkness the cloak of her skirt provides. Her voice finishes the now pointless request, “Don’t rip them.”

 

The vibrations of Misty’s laugh radiate right through her cotton underwear; the tip of Misty’s nose bumps into her clit through the material. A strangled noise chokes from Cordelia’s throat. High pitched and needy, breaking apart like fine china turning to splinters as it hits the floor. Her eyes fall closed. The greenhouse’s glass ceiling lets in the sunshine, making the back of her eyelids turn yellowish orange blocking the direct light.

 

Misty’s teeth bite at her panties - teasing in the feather light touch. _She’s going to drive me insane._ Her elbow bumps the record player as she goes to throw on of her forearms over her eyes in an attempt to lessen the burn of the sun. The coolness of Misty’s rings as she pulls her underwear aside makes her hips jump, and the rattling of the greenhouse door opening and slamming shut makes her whole body jump.

 

“Cordy, are you out here?” Madison’s voice sounds irritated, as always. Luckily, the movie star attempts to stay as far away from the plant nursery as possible. _It stinks like the gator girl in there,_ as she so kindly put it. “You’ve got to teach potions in five, and I am _not_ covering a class full of acne ridden freshman for you.”

 

Her annoyed groan is loud; it covers the sound of Misty crawling out from under her skirt, the sound of her palms smoothing down the clothing as she backs up on her knees. “Sounds like you gotta busy day today, huh?”

 

“Lunch break isn’t for _five hours.”_  Cordelia implies, her legs shaky as she attempts to cool herself down. “I’m going to have to change.”

 

“No, I want you to keep these on.” Misty’s taps three taps with two fingers on Cordelia’s calf. Her face tilts up to Cordelia’s, questioning in its soft nature. Ready to take back her request if it makes the older woman uncomfortable. “Nobody will see, but I’ll know.” The nod Cordelia gives as a reply earns her a sloppy kiss, two arms thrown around her neck and Misty’s thankful murmur.

 

With an easy _see you later,_ Misty grabs _Rumors_ from her records; watching Cordelia shuffle into her shoes as she does so. The needle drops, and as music fills the room, Cordelia walks off with two, unmistakable handprints on her rear.

  



	10. Hireath

**_Hireath_** _-_ _Homesickness for a home which you can no longer return to, or never existed._

 

Cordelia thinks Misty misses the swamp, at first. 

 

So she packs up a big, shiny SUV with a silver logo on the bumper that screams of the money poured into the vehicle with supplies. She packs Misty’s clothes, and Misty’s new toothbrush. Cordelia tugs her to the car, and drives her into the heart of the Louisiana marshlands to a well cared for shack that once held so much of her heart. 

 

Cordelia doesn’t hold Misty’s hand - she lets the younger witch loop her fingers around her wrist and lead her through the wild, growing garden out front. Cattails invade between the potted herbs, and Misty laughs as Cordelia scrunches her nose at the mosquitoes in the air. “Don’t worry,” Misty assures, as she herself gets bitten by the pesky bugs, “I’ve got some mud inside, Miss ‘Delia.” 

 

Cordelia pauses. She frowns, and her eyes (her  _ real brown eyes!) _ turn saddened. She digs her black mary jane shoes into the ground. It makes Misty halt, makes her twirl toward Cordelia and face the regretful expression painted across her features. 

 

“I have to go back.” She says - she tucks a lock of Misty’s hair behind her ear, lets her fingers run through it to the split ends. “The coven, they need me.” 

 

_ I need you.  _ Misty’s chest aches. The hot summer sun cooks them in their clothes, sweat dampens her collarbone, and glints on her cheeks. Her nose warms, and the familiar feeling of a sunburn forming tingles her face. “You’re leaving?”

 

“Not until later.” Cordelia amends. Correction, she  _ tries  _ to amend. The statement only makes Misty’s features mirror her own. 

 

Standing there, in her home - Misty’s more interested in the vision before her. Of Cordelia’s floral blouse, tucked into her skirt, and the ends of the bottom of her outfit swaying in the soft wind. The curl of her hair framing her face, and her subtle makeup. Misty thinks, she doesn’t miss her swamps as much as she missed Cordelia. 

 

She misses  _ kissing  _ Cordelia, and hugging her. She misses waking up next to Cordelia in the morning, and falling asleep in her arms at night. Misty misses things that’d have never happened; she guesses that’s a side effect from Hell. Her life before twisted and warped, her reality and dreams intertwined. Gardening with Cordelia, making love to Cordelia, taking Cordelia’s hand for the first time. 

 

“I’m going back too.”  _ I don’t want to be alone.  _ It’s unspoken by heard in how Misty steps closer. 

 

“But you’ve…” Cordelia trails off. She bites her lip, and she sighs defeatedly. “I haven’t seen you this happy since you’ve been back.”

 

Misty curls her toes in the mud - her shoes forgotten in the passenger side of Cordelia’s car. “Miss Cordelia, that’s because you haven’t  _ seen  _ me.” 

 

“I wanted to give you space.” The Supreme replies, and her waterline brims with tears. “All I want is for you to get better; I called Stevie, I brought you here. But-”

 

“Miss Cordelia-”

 

“-It’s not enough.” 

 

A pause, heavy and accompanied by the cicadas hidden in the trees and brush humming their endless song. “Miss Cordelia,” Misty starts, and her steel blue eyes dart down to watch her own hands take both of the older woman’s in a loose hold, “I didn’t miss any of those things.”

 

Cordelia’s eyes widen, and she leans forward, her chin tipping up to look at Misty’s gaze. Crickets chirp. The something definitely  _ creepy crawly  _ on her leg is easy to ignore when Misty’s hands fit so nicely in her own, as she lifts them up between the two women. 

 

“I didn’t miss anything as much as I missed you.” 


	11. Haphephobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not very happy with this one :/

**_Haphephobia_ ** _ : Fear of being touched. _

 

Misty’s feet are cold. 

 

It’s the one thing Cordelia’s mind dwells on, stripping the worn leather boots off the swamp witch’s feet; the cracking dried mud crumbling from the movement. The specs of dirt fall on the bathroom tile below Cordelia’s knees. Misty’s butt sits on the edge of the tub.  _ She’s so cold -  _ a chill that lingers in the air around her like a frostbitten cloud of energy _. _ Misty before Hell had never been cold - she’d glow warmly with the brightness of life - but Cordelia wonders if she had given in to her desires and gotten closer to Misty before what happened, would her toes have been chilled then, too?

 

Yet, she feels the cold through the boots - Misty’s feet curl toward herself at the slightest of touches. Her skirt pools on her lap, the thin flowing floral patterned material providing a nest of fabric for Misty to rest her bruised wrist in. Steel blue-gray eyes look down at her injured arm instead of Cordelia’s gentle gaze. 

 

“How badly does it hurt?” Cordelia asks - shifting on her knees, repositioning on the ground to better see the oddly bent joint without being able to take it in her own hands. Misty bites her lip, and with her unharmed hand to tuck a stray, rebellious curl of honey blonde hair behind her ear. The action is simple, but her eyes shift; shining in the bright artificial light of the bathroom bulbs with a sheen of unshed tears. _ I can tell she’s going to lie.  _ Cordelia offers a stubborn look - something she’s gotten used to giving, to a troublesome student or to Madison, more often than not. 

 

It does its job; making Misty finally look her eye to eye. “Only a little.” It’s better than a  _ no,  _ but it’s still horribly sad. The words draw Cordelia’s eyebrows down. The hum of fluorescent lighting taking place of their quiet conversation. There’s a pause, long enough for Misty to contemplate her answer. 

 

(Long enough for her to study the worriedness of Cordelia’s expression, and to decide that her features are much too pretty to have such crestfallen features because of herself.) 

 

“It’s fine.” Misty’s voice cracks towards the end; finishing off her declaration with an air of uncertainty. Her nose crinkles, her lips turn down in a scowl. The damage to her wrist makes sharp, painful throbs as she lies. “I’ll put a lil’ of my mud on it, is all.”

 

“That’s going to take days.” Cordelia states, inspecting the injury with scrutiny. Her hair’s tied up, kept in place with a scrunchy that matches the rose golden material of her blouse; the top three buttons undone and a pen tucked atop her left ear. 

 

Not that Misty’s staring, or anything like that. 

 

“Let me make you feel better?” Cordelia offers, and she presents her palms up with such compassionate regard for Misty’s feelings. She doesn’t push, doesn’t demand. Kneeling on the tile, her nicest pair of slacks wrinkling as she looks up at Misty with sincere kindness. The sink drips, a soft light sound that is too loud in the quietness of the bathroom.

 

She’s never asked, why Misty doesn’t want any kind of contact. It’s not her place, Cordelia had reasoned. She had spent a year in descensum; gone through terrors that continue to be a mystery in their nature. Misty hasn’t talked about.  _ I haven’t asked about it,  _ Cordelia frowns. Still - Misty talks in her sleep, sometimes. The few night’s the swamp witch had cracked Cordelia’s door open and created a nest of blankets on the ground to sleep next to Cordelia’s bed has offered some light onto  _ some  _ aspects. 

 

Misty’s lips quirk down, her eyes go downcast; she stares at Cordelia’s palms like she’s trying to read them. Her mouth parts, like she’s trying to form words far too out of reach.  _ I want to take away all her sorrow.  _ Cordelia wishes she knew a spell for that very thing,  _ I would do it in a heartbeat.  _

 

A heartbeat; that’s what skips as Misty’s unscathed hand lifts and drifts toward her palm. There’s a visible tremble in the tips of her fingers, hovering in the empty space above Cordelia’s hand. Something akin to excitement rushes to Cordelia’s head. It dizzies her thoughts and blurs her focus as Misty’s touch just barely grazes her skin; the shake of the pads makes them stutter against it. 

 

She doesn’t want to spook her, no, there’s a vibration in the air that makes Cordelia feel like Misty’s flight instinct is a baby’s breath away from triggering. So she keeps still, she holds her breath and fights her need to smile. Her cheeks redden as Misty’s fingers drag up her arm. Onto her shoulder, and tickle her neck. 

 

“I was scared.” 

 

Misty’s voice is gentle, a murmur that’s on weak stilts. 

 

“Scared of what?” Cordelia asks, after contemplating on speaking aloud. 

 

“I was sure-” Misty gulps, a pause to her words and a action that makes her lips purse together solemnly, “I thought if I touched you, Miss ‘Delia, you’d go away.” 

 

_ Why would you think that?  _ Cordelia is on the verge of asking, but Misty beats her to the punch. 

 

“I thought it was too good to be  _ true _ .” 

 

Misty’s fingertips brush against her chin, the drag of them pulling at her skin and making her lips part with a easy breath. “You’re here,” Cordelia assures, “You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.” 

 

“Really?” Blue eyes, looking up a bit and reflecting the light from above, stare with hopefulness pooling in them. 

 

“Really.” Cordelia confirms, nodding her head to further her words of confidence. There’s less fear of Misty’s response, so the older blonde sniffs (when her nose gotten so runny, when had her eyes teared without spilling over?) and smiles at her companion. 

 

“Care for me to fix that wrist now?” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and have a goode-day ;)


End file.
